by Sam Hawke
Tain checked the position of the sun through the dome roof. “It’s time we were back to our tasks,” he said. “Thank you all.”
Budua and Marjeta hurried out first. Varina and Lazar trailed after, both looking absent. Eliska, Marco, and Pedrag conversed as they left, each Guilder clasping a sheet of notes. Nara pushed through them all, elbows flared like a rude patron seeking the front row at the theater. Bradomir walked close by Tain, his ringed hands flashing expressively. Javesto stepped after Tain, reaching toward the Chancellor’s shoulder, his breath held as if steeling himself. But he dropped the hand before it reached Tain, and instead left, his head bent.
* * *
Jovan and the other Councilors spent the better part of the day in their own sectors, sorting out tasks and allocating responsibilities within their own little structures. I’d only had short moments with my brother and Tain after the Council meeting to share the list of names.
“Someone poisoned the leksot for a reason,” I said. “Lord Ectar had no reason to do it; it only increases suspicion over him. So either someone is working with a member of your household or administrative staff, or someone on this list is the poisoner.”
“I agree,” Jov said. “I suspect the poisoner saw the leksot on the Chancellor and took the opportunity to cover their tracks. It either looks like an innocent accident or a convenient visiting noble is blamed. Much easier than dealing with the aftermath of a poisoning.”
“So you’re saying someone on my own Council killed my uncle? And is working with the army out there?”
“There were a few administrative staff at the Manor that afternoon, too. Accountants, a scribe, the librarian. They weren’t at the lunch, but they could be working with one of Lazar’s staff, or could have been paid by someone to poison the leksot. But, yes, I think you shouldn’t trust your Council.”
Tain looked unconvinced. “I know this is your family’s job, but maybe you’re overthinking this. What on earth would a Councilor have to gain from a rebellion? The Credolen have already probably lost family members out on the estates. This isn’t just a power scramble within the city. People are going to get killed, on both sides. Have already been.”
It was true that the idea of, say, Bradomir working with ordinary workers and farmers to overthrow a system from which he benefited lavishly was absurd. And though Tain detested the man, he had been a strong ally of Caslav’s for decades. “The Families have all got trade relationships with other countries,” Jov said, as if in answer to my thought. “Who’s to say that hasn’t developed into some more sinister alliance? Or someone could have been blackmailed; we all have family and property in the other cities and on the estates that could have been used as leverage.”
Tain rubbed his forehead and sighed. “I love you both, you know that. And I know you’re looking out for my best interests. But listen, Lini, Jov, I’ve got to defend the city. I can’t be dredging through my advisers or trying to solve a mystery here. We’re all stuck in the city together and it’s in all our interests to get out of this siege alive, so can I just concentrate on that?”
“Forgive me, Tain, but no,” Jovan said firmly. “Sieges have been lost because of internal traitors.” He gestured to the book in my hand. “The Talafan lost a northern border city sixty years ago because someone inside poisoned the wells.”
Tain shifted about uncomfortably on the cushion. “Then I’m leaving that part of it to you, all right? I trust you two, I won’t trust anyone else completely, but I have to be able to run the defenses without second-guessing everything I’m told.”
I wanted to argue. Tain always thought the best of people; it was a great strength and an equally great weakness. I recognized the stress in his expression and Jov must have, too; unspoken, we dropped the subject. But I worried for him.
* * *
The afternoon light turned golden, splashing over the white azikta stone buildings like gilt paint, and the warm glow made my eyelids heavy. There had been no further attacks. All day we had waited uneasily for any sign that the army would strike again, but perhaps they needed time to build weaponry. I’d alternated between further research of sieges and performing odd jobs in the Oromani sector. I couldn’t operate machinery or transport heavy goods, but I could help coordinate people and send messages easily enough. When I mentioned to my brother that I might try training with the archery groups Marco was assembling, he gave me a blistering lecture about triggering a relapse. I blanked out, the picture of meekness, all the while thinking how to time my attendance to avoid my overprotective brother. Archery, after all, required strength, but not the same kind of sustained energy as other martial areas.
Late in the afternoon, I sought out the Theater-Guilder, Credola Varina, finding her at the expansive Leka family apartments she shared with her cousin Bradomir. A younger family member let me in and directed me to a sitting room where Varina talked with a young Order Guard, marking items off a list. She glanced up with narrowed eyes. Like a smooth, elegant reptile, she wore the deepening lines of her advancing age with grace.
“I’ve sent a whole group to act as the Chancellor’s runners, if you’ve come to remind me,” she said, brusque. “But that’s the last lot—Marco’s given me enough to do with my little population here as it is.”
I addressed the Order Guard, keeping my tone polite. “May I have a moment with the Theater-Guilder?”
“Of course, Credola,” he said, but he waited upon Varina’s sharp nod before he left. I settled myself down at the table.
“This isn’t about runners,” I said. “I’m trying to get some information.”
Varina stiffened. “About what, dear?” She pretended to consult the list in her hands. Up close, she looked peaky; her eyes and nose were red, as if she’d been crying, and her face looked thinner than usual.
“The day the Chancellor died,” I said. She looked up, eyes widening. I’d surprised her—whatever she had worried about me asking, it wasn’t this. “You were at the Manor.…”
“What of it?” Defensiveness made her drop her manners. I made my tone more conciliatory.
“While you were there, did someone else come to see you?”
She sniffed, indelicately wiping her nose. “I don’t … Oh, yes. Credo Javesto found me when I was looking over the theater. It was something silly, I can’t remember.… No, that’s right. His niece was desperate for a part in one of the autumn plays, and he was trying to get me to talk to the producer.” She tossed back her hair. “I told him no, naturally. You can’t interfere with the artistic vision.”
“Of course,” I murmured. So Javesto had indeed sought her out, but not about anything urgent. He could have made an appointment at the Guildhall, or asked her at the lunch, without needing to get into the Manor.
“What does it matter? What has Javesto’s niece got to do with anything, and since when is my Guild your business? You work for Budua, don’t you?”
Her confidence was back, but the rudeness remained. The arrogant curl of her pretty bow mouth and the tilt of her jaw grated like sand in my shoes. “Of course,” I said, ducking my head and allowing myself to look younger, embarrassed. “It’s only that the Chancellor is thinking of releasing Lord Ectar, you know, the Talafan? That unfortunate animal … It was probably an accident, but he’s trying to be sure. And I don’t want to spread rumors,” I dropped my voice conspiratorially, “but we had heard Credo Javesto is awfully invested in trade with the Empire.”
Varina considered me, her face still. “I see.”
“It’s probably nothing, but we were just trying to account for the Credo’s movements that day. Just to be certain. We lost a Chancellor and now this siege.…”
“We have a new Chancellor, and he must be protected, I agree,” Varina said.
“Please don’t say anything to anyone.” I tried to sound a little breathless. Easy for me, since it was my natural state half the time. “It would be most indelicate.”
“Of course, dear.” She settled ba
ck in her chair, relaxed again. I dropped from her concern as easily as that.
And just like that it annoyed me, so I pushed a little more. “You know I’m really an admirer of yours, Credola Varina. The productions this summer were some of the best shows I’ve seen. Oh, I meant to ask. Is that Doranite servant of Credo Lazar’s an actor? Jov noticed you talking at a lunch a few days ago and thought he looked rather familiar.”
“Just an aspiring one,” Varina said, all poise. “Don’t you think we have more important things to concentrate on right now?”
The smoothness of her response rang falser than her earlier hesitation. I’d surprised her before; this one she’d been ready for.
“Of course. Thank you for your help. I’ll leave you to your work.”
Varina sniffed again, and didn’t look at me as I left.
* * *
Another night of relative safety. No alarm bells or other emergencies. Jovan had already left without waking me; I tried not to feel annoyed about it, but failed. He had come in too late to disturb me last night, too. I suddenly wondered if he had come home at all. I had wanted to show him my sewing efforts from last night, but it would have to wait.
I visited our sector first. It already seemed more organized than yesterday, though I despaired at how young many of the wide-eyed men and women seemed. Too young for their lives to be in jeopardy, not that there was ever an ideal time for that. Chen, our assigned Order Guard, showed me the camp through a spyglass, pointing out their tents and fires.
“We think they’re getting supplies carted in,” she told me. “See those wagons, there? They arrived overnight. Looks like swords and bows to me.”
“From what direction?”
“The west road, least it looks that way.”
They were being supplied from somewhere. So much for any hope that this was a hasty and unsupported rebellion. And did this mean West Dortal—the smallest and least defensible of the three border cities—had fallen, if supplies could be so easily brought in? I made my way to the Manor slowly, in deference to my aching joints.
* * *
Argo let me through to the private wing; it felt odd walking through unescorted by servants, but all nonessential staff had been assigned other duties. Only those trained to protect Tain remained. My brother let me into Tain’s chambers and offered me tea. The playing pieces from a Muse board and other assorted ornaments were set up in formations on a large paper map on the floor, like a great game. Tain, kneeling beside it, looked up and smiled his slow smile. Even in the worst of situations, the force of his warmth turned on me was like the sun on a cold winter day. I smiled back.
“Did you get any sleep, Lini?”
I’d had a little, but not enough to satisfy my brother; I shrugged and changed the subject. “I called by our sector on my way here.”
“I’d prefer you stayed away from the walls,” Jovan said, frowning.
My breath came out and my frustration rose. I was stronger now than ever before, but my brother couldn’t see that, or didn’t want to. I started to respond, then took a sip of tea instead. Now wasn’t the time to pick a fight.
Instead, I told them what I’d learned about supplies from the west.
Tain pushed a few of the stones representing the army around with one finger. “Do you think it means anything?”
“It means they’re being supplied externally. And that they could get weapons in through our borders in quantity.” Our neighbors were marked on the paper: Doran to the south, the Talafar Empire to the north, and an assortment of smaller nations past the wetlands to the west: Tocatica, Perest-Avana, Maru, and Costkat, some bordering us and some not. Though we had almost exclusively peaceful relations with our neighbors, Silasta’s wealth and trade dominance made us a potential target. The Doranites were a hard, aggressive people, fractious and bound together only loosely by the man who called himself king. Their lack of genuine centralized leadership made it difficult to secure meaningful peace—hence the occasional raid or dispute over resources in the mountains—but likewise it was hard to imagine them staging a siege of an advanced city. Talafar had the resources and organization to plan an attack, but we’d had longstanding and mutually beneficial treaties in place for over a century. I followed Tain’s gaze to the west. Doubtless any of the small nations comprising the great western wetlands, who had once shared the trade routes north and south—albeit in a fragmented and inefficient manner—coveted our secure, fast route for themselves. Perhaps they’d put aside eons of conflict and decided to act collectively for once.
Had they seized on grievances from our people that we had failed to notice? Or had the rebellion sought its own supplies from a neighbor who supported the downfall of Sjona’s rich capital? We needed to know the causes of this rebellion or we would find no way to undo it.
“Has the intelligence master reported?” Silasta’s official spy networks were run by cooperation between the Warrior Guild and my own Administrative Guild. I had no such official role; as far as my Guild knew, my training in diplomacy was never intended to be anything more than that. Etan had only ever wanted me as a private source of information to serve our family’s duty and protect the Chancellor. I didn’t even know the identity of the intelligence master.
“She’d nothing to offer,” Tain said, drawing a chalk line with rather more force than necessary. “We don’t spy on our own farms, generally, but no unusual activity has been reported from any sources at all. Some reports due that haven’t arrived—but that’s not surprising if the rebels have been intercepting messages, or if one of the border cities was taken.”
“All of this is connected.” Jov traced an idle finger around the rim of the empty bowl beside him. Undistracted by the siege, my brother repeatedly circled back to the poisoning; he felt Etan’s failure to protect the Chancellor as his own, and feared he would likewise fail Tain. “This is a planned attack and your uncle was murdered. If we can figure out the why of one, we might find the who of the other. Or the other way around.”
“That reminds me,” I said. I produced the product of my late-night sewing; two converted old purses, stitched carefully onto bands that could be worn under clothing. Not comparable to a proper Craft-Guilded seamster’s work, but I was decent enough with a needle. “I think you should have these with you. You’re not going to be able to prepare all of Tain’s food, and he won’t have the luxury of only eating in your apartments or the Manor.”
Jovan was already nodding. He took the connected purses, delving into the small compartments and straps within with obvious interest. “Why two?”
I glanced sideways at Tain. “We can be with you most of the time, but neither of us would be much use in a fight, if someone attacked you directly.” Outright violence in Silasta at all, let alone within high society, was so socially unacceptable it was hard to imagine. So many things that had been hard to imagine only weeks before were becoming our new reality.
My brother let his breath out in a hiss, his gaze troubled as he understood my meaning, but he gave me an approving nod. “One for antidotes, one for … the opposite.”
“If you can be a proofer, you can be a poisoner,” I said. After all, our family’s secret role had developed for a reason. Once each Family would have had their own secret poisoner, and it was foolish to believe our own ancestors had been too noble to participate actively in the squabbles for leadership. I doubted the proofing role had always been entirely reactive, even if our records spoke only of defense. My gaze dropped to the scars on Jovan’s arm; not his only ones, but the most visible. Even if the role of proofer had been a silent and purely defensive one for generations, Etan’s experiments had always been wide ranging, and some of our resources could be turned to weapons in an emergency. Jovan knew that, at least intellectually, but he had never harmed anyone with his knowledge before. We were protectors, not assassins. As someone prone to quadruple-guessing and harshly judging his every decision as it was, he might struggle to cope with such a change. But w
hat choice did we have?
Tain looked uncertainly at the pouch. He had always avoided discussing Jovan’s work, and confusion and concern flickered over his face. My brother tucked the pouches away out of sight and by unspoken consent we let the subject fall away.
“Are you going to release Lord Ectar?” I asked.
“I think so.” Tain stretched, looking down at Talafar on the map. “He isn’t likely to be our poisoner, is he, unless he’s hoping he’s so obvious a suspect we’d disregard him? And Talafar has ridden to the rescue of besieged cities before. If we’re so lucky I wouldn’t want to explain why I’ve got the Emperor’s grandson locked in a room in my house.”
“We can keep an eye on him as best we can,” Jov said. “Assign him to my sector, perhaps—then we can see what he’s doing and keep him away from the other Councilors.”
Tain let his fingers drift to the outer edges of the map on the model. “I wonder.”
“What?”
“What are they doing about the traffic?” He traced his fingers along invisible roads to the city. “Scores of people usually come in and out through the road gates every day. How are the rebels stopping them? If they’re turning around when they see the army, word is going to reach outside our borders pretty soon.”
“So even if our runners didn’t get through…” Tain broke off and looked at me, chagrined. “They will, of course,” he said. “Edric will be safe.”
I avoided his gaze, letting my hair obscure my face. I’d not told them about the short note Edric had left me, not liking the combination of guilt and irritation and worry that uncurled in my stomach when I thought about it. He had a good heart and an entirely unrealistic picture of dear, sweet Kalina, fancying himself heroically caring for such a frail little thing as me. I wished him all the best, but there were only so many times I could take people trying to thrust him into my bed. I raised my chin. “Of course he’ll be fine. But while he’s away I could use the break from hearing ‘Kalina Kalina.’”